


War Is Over

by cattlaydee



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Chuck Hansen Lives, Chuck Lives, Family Feels, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Hansen Family Feels, literally all the cliches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 08:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7836688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cattlaydee/pseuds/cattlaydee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The commemoration for the 5 year anniversary of the breach closure uncovers a surprise on a remote island in the Pacific. [Chuck Lives, Amnesia fic.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	War Is Over

**Author's Note:**

> i've never posted for this fandom before, so hopefully you all are nice. I started writing this a LONG time ago, shortly after the DVD came out (which is also why there's some christmas stuff in here) and found it while digging through my old drafts, and put the finishing touches on it so...yeah, hopefully you guys like it. feelsy fluff LALALA CHUCK IS ALIVE, let me live in my denial

the air is still and the sky is clear, the day they erect two marble obelisks on the beach. the branches of the palms around them do not tremble, and the waves move softly, barely making rifts in the sand. even Max stays still at his side, does not whimper nor jerk forward, but sits in the sand and the heat, as if even he knows how solemn this moment is.  
  
it's been a few months since the world didn't end. the soldiers in the shatterdome celebrated for one entire week, fireworks every night, liquor from dusk til dawn (since they had no cause to stay sober to pilot giant killer robots). herc spent the nights on the pier, staring out across the water, because he can still pretend, even if just a little. mako, raleigh, tendo, they all trade off nights, joining him in silence, but eventually he shrugs even them off. he's not this melancholy during the day; there's still more to do, more to build back up. it's only at night that he lets himself feel like sinking into the sea with his son.  
  
_War does not determine who is right_ , he thinks bitterly to himself, _only who is left._

* * *

When the Kaiju rose from the depths of the Pacific, when the attacks became evident, and planned, when it became too much, many fled. They left their homes close to the ocean, moved inland, further away, where the monsters could not destroy their lives. Some, unwilling to let that happen, went elsewhere. To places so small, the beasts would never find them, the world would forget they existed, and they would be safe.  
  
It is here, on a small island with a moderately sized village, when the sun rises, that a boy finds a man on the beach, naked and battered, curled in on himself. His body is burned, and bleeding, and the boy runs for his sister, who brings with her another man and they haul the body up where the water cannot wrinkle his skin anymore, and cover him from the sun. He is unconscious.  
  
But he lives.  
  
And three months later, after the sun sets just so over those marble obelisks off the coast of Hong Kong, the man opens his eyes.

* * *

He remembers being 19 and stupid, drunk and reckless, and just like Chuck. He remembers a movie and a book that young men all around him seemed relate to.  
  
_we're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. Our great war is a spiritual war. Our great depression is our lives._

But Palahunik had so much wrong, could never have known what was hidden in the depths of the Pacific. Herc's not even pissed. He's just sad. And he doesn't think he's ever not going to be.  
  
"....war is over..."  
  
It's two am on Christmas eve, and he's in a bar with a glass of shitty whiskey. The war is never over.

* * *

He doesn't know his name, or where he's from, doesn't know how he got here. He doesn't speak much after he awakens, cautious and wary of these people, though they bind his wounds and feed him without question. He begins to pick up bits and pieces of their language-it is some dialect of pacific islander, which he somewhat recognizes, but English is what comes out when he opens his mouth. They recognize it easily enough, but slip back and forth depending on the task. It leads to awkward interpretations, ones that make the young woman caring for him laugh, makes him blush. Blushes and laughs that turn to soft and gentle caresses. Over time, general affection that turns to love.  
  
Months turn quickly to years. The woman is Cara, and they call him Max, and they settle together, with her brother and father (the man who helped pull him from the sea), and they have a baby they call Naya. He helps with the fishing nets they cast out in the mornings and pull in at dusk, chases his daughter around as she laughs and squeals and helps his now brother in law adjust to what are swiftly becoming his teenage years.  
  
He has no idea who he is and where he comes from, and he is blissfully content with that.  
  
Sometimes he traces the scars from whatever his accident was. There had been giant monsters, they tell him, attacking at terrible paces, and so maybe he was a fisherman, or in the Army. There's a tattoo on his arm, where they pulled his name from when he was unconscious for weeks, of a wide grinning bulldog. He figures his name probably wasn't Max-who gets their OWN name tattooed on themselves?-but he likes it, and it makes him smile when Cara calls to him, so he keeps it all the same.  
  
Sometimes he stares the tat, marred a bit by a bubbled, pink scar from whatever happened to him. He wonders who he was, and what he did. Did he have a family? Was he alone? Was there someone out there waiting for him to come home?  
  
It's mostly at night when he does this, on their porch, after Naya has gone to sleep. Cara usually comes out to call for him, and he retreats without much thought, but with a singular long look out at the stars. He hopes that if there is someone, that they have found the peace that he has.

* * *

Sometimes, Max has strange dreams. They are different than usual, dreams within dreams almost, as if he is walking through a fog of abstract thought and action. The world swirls around like cigarette smoke, ribbons flying past his face, half formed images that seemed _real_.  
  
Sometimes he sees a man, lifting a boy over his head, swinging him around, or a beautiful woman with blonde hair smiling, but the images are gone before they can fully form.  
  
"Catch you in the drift..."  
  
It doesn't really matter. He always forgets them within minutes of waking, leaving only some hollow sense of loss for the barest of moments.

* * *

5 years comes faster than Herc Hansen would've expected, having thrown himself into his job as Marshall. He's spent most of his time heading the recovery effort on the coasts, overseeing the entire Pacific region from Australia to Asia, although he stays in Hong Kong where the Shatterdome is still in use. Mako and Raleigh have both been married off at this point, each with their own little families, all the while still close to the city. They never talk about it, but it's almost unspoken that they need each other in their lives to just have people around that _know_. Tendo and Alison have moved back to Alaska to continue their family, wanting to start anew now that the Kaiju's were behind them, wanting to forget.  
  
Unfortunately, the five years is a benchmark, and there are celebrations and memorials, and everywhere he looks are reminders of things he just wants to forget. He retreats in solitude to a beachfront condo he bought for when he needs to get away. The only people who know how to get a hold of him are his closest of friends, and they generally know that is only absolutely in an emergency.  
  
When the phone rings early in the morning, when the stars still clutter the sky, he stares for a few moments before picking it up. It's Raleigh.  
  
"Herc? There's something you need to know."

* * *

Jared Palmer is a 19 year old journalist with no training, no schooling and so he's tasked with an assignment no one else wants. He travels to a cluster of Pacific isles that have been rumored as refuge for citizens in the area that fled the large cities when the Kaiju were still attacking. He was young when they appeared, only 6, and he has a hard time remembering the before of it all.  
  
His father was killed in a Kaiju attack when he was 10, but his mother always made due. She remarried shortly after the breach was closed, afraid to make a commitment in a world torn by war and strife, but she added to their family, giving him a younger sister and he's anxious because holidays are the only time he gets to really see them and Christmas is in a few weeks. It's a human interest piece, nothing hard hitting, but it's at least interesting. He hopes he gets something to write about, something great before the holiday hits so he can go home. He has no idea this trip is going to change his life.  
  
It's a week or so before he makes his way to a small fishing village, an island located in the southern most part of the cluster. He's tired, and somewhat cranky. Everyone has been nice, but very few want to remember the time before they came here, very few want to discuss the monsters they've put behind him.  
  
"Whazat?"  
  
A little girls voice pulls him from his thoughts one morning as he wades in the surf on the beach. Her complexion is tanned, her hair a dark brown but her eyes are amazingly, bright blue. She grins up at him, a gap in the front of her teeth, placing a small hand on her forehead as she looks up at him to shield her eyes from the sun. With her other, she pulls at the camera hanging at his side, asking him the question once more. He smiles softly. It doesn't surprise him. His experience here has made it clear these people live without modern electronics, most just living off what the land gives them. He squats in front of her,  toying with the camera in his hands.  
  
"Do you know what a picture is?"  
  
She nods.  
  
"Well this, is called a lens. And when I point it at something," He demonstrates, pointing at the tree line. "And push this button..." He pulls it back after the click, showing her the screen and smiles wider at her excited gasp as he shows her the picture.  
  
"It's so pretty!"  
  
"Naya?"  
  
A woman's voice comes from a short distance, and both look back to see a woman trotting toward them, long brown hair wrapped up behind her, a long skirt and tank top billowing in the wind.  
  
"Mama!"  
  
The girl runs to her, throwing her arms around her mother's legs. The matriarch smiles down at her, saying something Jared cannot hear, before looking up at the man. She is wary of him, he can tell, but her face is still kind, curious. She takes her daughter's hand and walks over.  
  
She says something in a language he doesn't understand, and when she sees the confusion on his face, she smiles softer. "You are not from here."  
  
"I'm not. I hail from Sydney, originally." He sticks out his hand. "Jared Palmer. I'm a journalist. I'm trying to talk to locals who migrated here during the war, for the 5 year anniversary of the Breach closure."  
  
She nods, shaking his hand. "I am Cara. This is Naya. My family and I escaped here a few years after the attacks began."  
  
His interest is piqued. "That's wonderful. Would you mind if I sat down with you and discussed some things?"  
  
She looks doubtful but she picks her daughter up, resting her on her hip. "Of course. My father and husband will be back around dusk with some food. Are you hungry?"  
  
His stomach rumbled in response, reminding him he hadn't eaten today. "That would be incredibly gracious of you. I would very much appreciate it."  
  
She motions for him to follow and begins to walk, and because he has nowhere else to be, he does.

* * *

"My brother was small. Only 3, when the Kaiju came. My mother died protecting him. After that, my father was determined to keep us safe, and he heard about families...survivors...moving away from the coast, to a group of smaller islands that were so insignificant and out of the way, the chances of a Kaiju attack were almost nothing."  
  
"And your husband? Did you know him already?"  
  
She purses her lips, looking away, unsure of what to say. "My husband joined us much later. Around 6 years ago...a victim of a shipwreck, either from a storm or a Kaiju attack. We were so far removed though from the news of the mainland, we never knew. He didn't remember anything himself. He probably won't be much help."  
  
Jared smiles, shrugging as he sips some sort of tea she has brewed for him. "That's alright. To hear how you've all built these communities in the wake of such disaster is very interesting."  
  
"We did what we had to do." She replies simply. A rustling outside drew them from their conversation. "That will be them."  
  
The door to the home opens, chuckles and rough voices mixing with the sounds of shoes wiping themselves on a mat.  
  
"Daddy!"  
  
Naya ran to the man, throwing himself at her legs, and he bent down, his face obscured from view. Pink, bubbled tendrils of scarring ran up his arms, causing the writer to wince; it doesn't take a very vivid imagination to understand how they came to find their way on his body, souvenirs of a war some would never be able to forget.  
  
The man raises his head. "Caught us a couple of decent ones for dinner tonight, your dad did----oh. Company?"  
  
Jared's mouth fell open.  
  
"Oi, ya alright, mate? Look like you've just seen a ghost."

* * *

Jared can't stop staring at the man who introduces himself as Max. And he knows it obvious, knows it's making him uncomfortable, but he can't help it.  
  
It's Chuck Hansen. But that's impossible.  
  
He eats the fish, listening to the family interact, smiling at this gem of a little girl. Almost 4, they said.  
  
Almost.  
  
When she goes to bed, he sits with Max, drinking some sort of liquor that he's not sure how they made, but it's good. They stare at the stars in silence. They have told Jared the story, of how Max washed up on shore 5 years before, battered and at death's door, how he slept for months, how he fell in love. They don't really discuss how he has no idea who he was before then.  
  
"You gonna tell me why you keep leering at me, mate?" The man drawls softly, leaning back against the porch. They can hear Cara's soft, sweet voice singing Naya a lullaby, the soft snores of the grandfather in the living room in his bunk. Jared can't look at him.  
  
"Do you know how the war ended? Has word reached this place?"  
  
"We know it's over. Something about an explosion. Not much else. We try and keep to ourselves."  
  
Jared nods, turning his glass in his hand over and over. "Did they ever tell you what Jaegar's were? How we fought the Kaiju?"  
  
"Not really."  
  
He pointed at Max's arm, where a vitiated tattoo sits, ruined. "I think that used to be one. Her name was Striker Eureka. At least, that's where it was in all the photos."  
  
Max stares at him. "Photos?"  
  
"I think you were a Jaegar pilot. It doesn't seem possible, but...I mean, if you are, you were super famous. They've named schools after you. Statues have been made in your honor. Your name was Chuck Hansen."  
  
Max doesn't blink. The name isn't familiar at all.  
  
After a few minutes of silence, he speaks. "Tell me about Chuck Hansen."  
  
They're up until the sun rises.

* * *

Jared promises them he won't write the story, not without the family's permission, and he can tell they're thankful even if they don't say they are.  
  
Cara isn't as warm as she used to be, and sometimes at night, he can hear her and Max (Chuck) talking in another language, and she's upset. They are nice enough to let him stay for a week or so while they figure things out. When she doesn't think anyone can hear, she cries to herself in another room. Jared hears all of it.  
  
He feels like he's ruined their lives.  
  
He remembers seeing clips of Chuck Hansen on the news when he was only 12 or 13. He always seemed on edge, cocky, angry at the world. This is not the man he's gotten to know this week. The man who sits with his daughter in a hammock outside and points to the stars, who chases her around and twirls her up high as she giggles maniacally, whose wife looks at him as if he's hung the moon. He doesn't know that he'd ever seen a genuine smile on the man's face in any of the recordings he watched.  
  
He asks about Herc, and Jared doesn't have much to tell him except that he keeps to himself, doesn't do interviews. He doesn't tell him that he has sad eyes, as if he still carries a weight on himself that will never be lifted.  
  
He wants this to be Max (Chuck's) decision.  
  
The day before he leaves, for Christmas is only days away, Max pulls him to the side and asks him to go for a walk on the beach. Cara watches from the dining area, Naya drawing pictures and babbling away, and he sees the look on her face and Jared knows what the answer will be.  
  
"You can write the story," Max (Chuck) says softly. "I'm sure they'll want proof so I'll come to the city with you. I'd like to..." He trails off. "You have to warn my..."  
  
He doesn't finish the sentence, but Jared nods all the same.

* * *

Herc doesn't really remember the phone call, but Raleigh is at his home in the morning, tight lipped and soft. It's not pity that Herc sees, but something else he can't define. He lets the younger man in with a grunt, motioning to the couch.  
  
"I'm still unsure of what you really meant, Beckett. What you're saying..."  
  
"I saw him."  
  
Herc's shoulders go rigid. It's a few days after the New Year, almost exactly 5 years to the day of the breach closing, and he should be close to a fifth into his annual remembrance tradition, but (other than the half he drank last night) he's completely sober. Herc looks at him, face drawn in grief, etched with lines that will never go away.  
  
A few hours inland, Max (Chuck) looks at himself in a mirror. They have them at home, but they're old, grimy, cracked and this one has bright lights that allow every scar and blemish his face carries. He's never liked to look at himself since he awoke. Half of his right ear is gone, and the right corner of his mouth sags where something ripped into his cheek, leaving  that side of his face permanently marred. There are various other ones but this is what really captures him. He wonders how Cara could have fallen for him, sometimes, but he attributes that to her maybe really loving his heart. From what he's heard about this Chuck character, he's not sure if it would've happened if he'd met her before.  
  
His life is now split, before and after. He doesn't remember any of the before, only the pain and fear of waking up to strangers, who quickly turned into family. He's not sure he wants to know about before, but he has a daughter and he can't imagine not knowing what ever would become of her if, god forbid, they were separated.  
  
They have him isolated, and the room is absolutely immaculate. It's white everywhere, too clean for his taste, with bright florescent lighting that hurts his eyes. They gave him jeans and a worn tshirt they tell him used to be his, pulled from the Shatterdome, from a bunk that has stayed untouched. They give him his dogtags too.  
  
**_Charles Hansen_**  
**_dob. 14.8.2003_**  
**_Sydney, Australia_**  
  
A petite, but strong woman comes to visit him. The first guy he saw was weird, regarding him as a wild animal at first. He made a motion to hug him, but Max (Chuck) pulled away, startled. Beckett, he calls himself, backs up, hands up, apologizes with a tight grin. Says they never really got along anyway.  
  
Mako is this woman's name, and her face is full of grief when she sees him. She touches him, as if needing proof he is tangible, and her face crumples and she leaves. He's not sure why. Someone tells him later he piloted the Jaegar with her father, that something he did must have saved Chuck, that it may be like her losing him again. He aches a little inside for her. He feels angry.  
  
They debrief him, hours upon hours, and for the first time of many, he regrets leaving Cara and Naya behind for a later trip. He would be home soon, he had told them, but now he thinks it may take longer, and he's warned the news of his return may stir up unwanted attention. This was expected, he acknowledges but he didn't think about how it would affect them, or that it would. But Jared has agreed to keep their home a secret, to misdirect his audience, to try and keep them safe. He believes him.  
  
It's January 12th when he is told he will have another visitor. He is told he will have the day. He is told the visitor is his father.  
  
He's not really sure what that means.

* * *

Hansen's don't do great with emotions, and Herc never thought he would want Angela back as much as he does now. He stands outside the room with a leash in his hand, a very old bulldog at his feet. He's thankful the damned thing has lived this long.  
  
He still doesn't believe anyone, figures he won't until he touches Chuck with his own hands. If he lets him. He's been told Chuck doesn't remember anything, any of them. Doesn't remember him or Angela, or being a Pilot. He thinks that may be the greatest gift of all.  
  
He knocks on the door, and Max whines, suddenly pawing at the floor with renewed energy for a dog that has outlived the average lifespan of his breed.  
  
"Come in."  
  
Herc chest tightens at the voice, muffled but familiar. He opens the door slowly and Max takes off like a bullet. He hears scratching as a chair is pushed back, and he sees a man pressing himself against a wall, backing away from the dog. He doesn't even look at him until he picks the leash back up.  
  
His face is scarred in a couple of places, his mouth disfigured and haggard, but his eyes are the same. Herc is thankful for the door frame, because he leans against it as his knees wobble underneath him, betraying himself. He curses inwardly.  
  
"Max, heel!" He growls and the dog turns for a second to look at him before rushing toward Chuck once more with a whine. Chuck's eyes go wide, looking at the dog, then at his arm, and he grins.  
  
"I...named myself after my dog?"  
  
Herc can't help but crack a grin. "You always did love that dog more than anything else."  
  
They stand a few feet from each other in silence, Herc just drinking him in. He is marked all over his body, evident he has survived a great trial. Chuck shifts under the stare.  
  
"So. You're Hercules?"  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, I am."  
  
"This is weird."  
  
Herc barks out a laugh. "It is." He steps toward him, lifting his hand. "Can I...?"  
  
Chuck nods jerkily. Herc reaches out, touching his face, running his fingers over the scars and into his hair, and finally, pulls him into a tight embrace.  
  
Chuck returns it loosely, trying to ignore how uncomfortable the mans shudders are making him. When he finally pulls away, he turns from him, wiping at his face.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"You don't have to apologize. This must be really hard for you. But I...I don't remember anything."  
  
Herc can only nod. He looks around the overly sterile environment, not sure what to do from here, and he motions to another chair. Chuck nods to the unspoken question and he sits. Max doesn't leave his son's side.  
  
"I'm sorry." He repeats. "This must be hard for you too. It's just...it's a lot to process..." He coughs out a laugh. "Whatever made you agree to this?"  
  
Chuck is looking at Max, scratching the dogs back, behind his ears, can't look up at the older man. He finally shrugs. "I can't imagine losing my daughter. I thought you deserved to know."  
  
_Daughter_  
  
"You...you have a kid?"  
  
Chuck finally looks up, and the reservations are gone from his face. A genuine, bright smile Herc has not seen since before the Kaiju showed up splits his face with a chuckle. "Yeah. She's three, almost four. Naya. Would you...would you like to see a photo? The journalist was kind enough to take a few of us, so I'd have something while I was away."  
  
Herc didn't know what to say. When the year started, he was alone, and now he has not only his son, but a grandchild. He barks out a short laugh, but then it grows. "Of course I do! Tell me everything about her."  
  
Herc is there for hours.

* * *

It's time for him to go. It is almost February, and Herc hasn't missed a day of visiting. He and Chuck-whom he calls Max, just for the kid's sake-have fallen into a pleasant rapport, much less contentious than when they were co-pilots, but also less intimate. Still, it's the same Chuck (Max); just happier, more peaceful, not broken. Knowing he has a family and a child of his own, Herc is almost thankful for the way the world didn't end.  
  
Almost.  
  
Chuck had his bags packed when Herc came to pick him up at the center, shifting nervously from foot to foot, cracking his knuckles and double checking everything to make sure he's ready to go. Herc insists on a late lunch before he goes and Chuck easily agrees. Herc doesn't notice the subtle glances he's sneaking at him.  
  
They eat in relative quiet, but what is said is mostly Herc's doing.  
  
"You haven't spoken to them in weeks, I'd imagine you're busting out of your skin right now." He comments with a soft smile. Chuck huffs a soft laugh.  
  
"Jared was nice enough to lend her a phone and some batteries, so we've gotten to a little. He was very kind to my family."  
  
"Then I'm glad it was him that found you."  
  
Chuck looks up and met his Hercules' gaze, and where he was used to seeing pain or weariness, found a softness that had been developing for weeks. Chuck smiles back.  
  
"So am I."

* * *

At the airport, they sit in Herc's truck at the baggage check and wait. The flight would leave in an hour and a half, and yet Chuck wasn't moving to leave the vehicle.  
  
"The island is remote. It'll take me a few hours after the plane lands...but it's beautiful, a beautiful place." He pauses, chewing the inside of his cheek. "Would you...would you like to come, sometime, to visit?"  
  
Herc manages to temper his grin, as he has been wondering how appropriate it would be to just show up on his son's doorstep a month or two from now. With an invite, he knows now that will not be an issue. "I would very much like that."  
  
"And maybe. The family, we can come up in August. For...for my birthday, yeah?"  
  
"We can keep it small. Just close friends and us." Herc offers, not wanting to overwhelm his son. He has a giant home out by the beach, and it's always so empty, and quiet, and the idea of potentially getting to fill it with some others for a few days causes a warm feeling to blossom within his chest.  
  
Chuck nodded. "That would be nice."  
  
Silence fell once more and Herc opened his door. "We better get you going."  
  
Chuck was slow to move, but Herc went and retrieved his bags from the back. He was returning home with an extra bit after the prolonged stay, journals and books, photographs and other things that he felt compelled to bring with him.  
  
Something had changed for him in the past few weeks, like some kind of fog pushing at the boundaries of his mind, but no matter how he chased it, it slipped through his fingers  
  
_the blonde woman_  
  
_..."old **man** "_  
  
Herc dragged the bags to the curb where Chuck now waited, avoiding his gaze. With a heavy sigh, his father cuffed his shoulder, pulling him close.  
  
"Never used to be much for this before, but with everything..." He trails off, swallowing hard. "You need to get going. But I'll see you soon."  
  
"In the drift, right?"  
  
The breath left Herc's body with a soft sound, eyes widening. Chuck smiled almost painfully.  
  
"I heard it around the compound." He pulls away, ducking his head sheepishly. "I figured since we were copilots..." He shrugged, shook his head. "I don't know, it just felt kind of familiar. Like a dream or something."  
  
"It, um...it was the last thing you said before you left." Herc replied, voice a little raspy.  
  
"Well. This trip will end differently."  
  
This time, it was him pulling Herc to him, pressing his fists tightly into his father's back.    
  
"I can't wait to get home, but I don't want to leave." He whispers into his father's shoulder with an unsure tone, and Herc closes his eyes.  
  
"I will be there in a few months. You tell that little girl I'm bringing presents."  
  
Chuck coughs out a laugh as he releases Herc, reassured by his words. "You can't spoil her..."  
  
"She's my only grandchild. And I've missed 3+ years, I can do whatever I want." He stares at the young man, and suddenly, it feels like his throat has closed up and he can barely breathe to take him in. "It's gonna sounds weird, cause I know you don't really remember, but I'm so proud of you, Max."  
  
"It's Chuck. Old man." He grins and then he's there, all over again, and Herc's tongue finds the roof of his mouth as he quietly swallows a sob. It's the glint in his eye, playful antagonism written clearly on his face and he scoffs, shaking his head as it fades into a chuckle.  
  
"You're a little shit, you know that?"  
  
"Yeah, well, I guess that means something stuck. Probably take after you a bit, eh?"  
  
He wants it, it's obvious; he wants to remember, even if it's not all great, knows it won't be.  
  
"You better get going. I'd hate for you to miss your flight."  
  
"Yeah, I gotta..." He picks up his duffel, reaches for the extended arm of the bigger bag and turns back to him. "I've missed you. I didn't totally get that, before this past week or so. But I have missed you. Just didn't realize just what it was."  
  
"Ah, come on kid." His face winces, he doesn't know how much more of this he can take before he loses it in front of him, and that's just not what he wants to do. He grabs his shoulder and squeezes. "I'm going home now, and I'm buying that ticket and I will see you in April. You're not getting rid of me so easy now, you hear?"  
  
"Yessir. In the breach, then?"  
  
"In the breach. Go. Your wife and that little girl are waiting. I'll see you soon." _I love you_. He hopes Chuck understands that, as clearly as he did before. He doesn't drive off until the plane leaves the airfield.  
  
And two months later, true to his word, he's on their doorstop, an overexcited bulldog at his feet.


End file.
